Help Me Lose My Mind
by AGirlsGottaEat
Summary: In the day, Cassandra, a young patient is going through her final stage of treatment. In the night, a lone figure, leaves the scent of smoke and sunflowers in the piano room.
1. Prologue

PROLOGUE

* * *

><p>"<em>Talk to me and watch me crumble,<em>

_You will see me come undone._

_Faithfully, I will look over,_

_There I'll find what you've become."_

* * *

><p>She opened her fluttering eyelid that felt the mild warmth of the sun splay upon it.<p>

A soft and gentle aroma of something sweet yet invisible blew past her nose. Something so pleasant, like freshly made bread or the lingering smell of rain when it landed on the overgrown grass, it was a type of smell that made her head raise and search for the source. She blinked, and in that brief second she was blind the woman thought that maybe the world would disappear into nothingness and turn to ash, but instead she was faced with a sea of bright yellow that towered over her and waved against the wind like it were dancing.

_Sunflowers._

Raising a hand she attempted to touch the long, curling petal, but she was too short for the tall flower that stood in front of her like a firm soldier. The sky was the color of a peach, a mixture of red, yellow and orange, not a single cloud smudged the sky and not even a lone bird flew across it.

"_You know why I love sunflowers?"_

A small, childish voice asked. The auburn haired woman looked around her bright surrounding, hearing a laugh and sigh coming from within the sea of yellow, then a loud rustle that seemed to come from behind her. Turning, the sound again came, but from her right side, and again the woman turned, and turned, and turned until she felt herself going dizzy. Trapped within the sunflower prison she began to push herself through each green stork, snapping them if necessary, fighting to find where the voice was coming from. It sounded like a girl, due to the constant giggling and tuneful humming that led a trail for the woman to follow, even if she had to strain to listen.

It wasn't long until she found another opening. Her bare feet caked with wet mud and hair tattered, she gave up on her search and listened to the movement from behind the blanket of yellow and green circle around her.

"_Because they always look on the bright side."_

The girl replied in a singsong voice, giggling at her little joke, going ahead and explaining that the yellow flower head had the ability to follow the sun wherever it went. The woman didn't laugh, or smile, but instead her brow lowered and she opened her mouth to speak. Yet, it was too late, before a word passed her mouth, she heard loud rustling and stomping, and realized the girl had gone.


	2. Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

* * *

><p>"<em>You help me lose my mind,<em>

_And you bring me something I can't define._

_Help me lose my mind, make me wonder,_

_What I felt before."_

* * *

><p>"Cassandra."<p>

The woman before the man didn't respond to her name, not a slight twitch of recognition or glance of acknowledgment that someone had entered the room. Her pupil's that was surrounded with the color of forest green had enlarged and were fixed on the wall ahead of her. Momentarily trapped within an unbreakable bubble that cut herself from the world outside of her mind Cassandra remained perfectly still, though her hand wandered to her head, where she took a lock of curly hair and twirled it around her finger. Much like her appearance, her hair had been left unkempt and outdated, a huge wave of a tangled mop and a full fringe that had been cut too short and ended in the center of her forehead.

"Cassandra." Doctor De Santis called out her name in a stern, professional manner he had always upheld upon with each patient he was given to care and treat for. He sounded like any professional psychologist would, mild-mannered and serene, though there was a certain coldness that hid behind his voice. He was a middle-aged man, dark smoky hair, the type that seemed to be modeled from birth to become a doctor. He steadily walked into her field of vision, taking his seat on the opposite side of the table that separated them a meter in distance. He pulled out the chair opposite her, and placed his briefcase beside his feet and a beige folder on the table labeled confidential. As usual, he wore a fine black suit that covered his tall and trim figure, and his hair was gelled back, though a strand had become loose and curled over his forehead.

He gave her an intense gaze, unable to decide whether her lack response was to offend or simply a product of her attitude. She brought her head back, blinking rapidly for a moment and focusing her gaze on the man in front of her. "Sorry."

Silently studying his patient's psyche, De Santis waved his hand and took his glasses from the inside of his burgundy shirt pocket, flicking them open and putting them over his nose. It was his job to understand the motive, fear, desire or other psychological aspects of his patient's personality, and from what he had so far witnessed from the dazed woman in front of him, it only gave him more determination to pull at the loose string that showed from her aura of deceit and denial of her mental illness. With a straight face he replied, "It's alright."

He stared down at the folder he had placed on the table, opening it with a swift flick and quickly reading through the patient file.

**Name:** Versace, Cassandra Maria

**Consultation Date:** 2005. 03. 05

**Gender:** Female

**D.O.B:** 1986. 04. 07

**Observing Physician****:** Dr. Anthony De Santis

**Diagnostic:** _Patient 203 has shown different façades of personality and behavioral illnesses. There are clear signs of an anxiety disorder, recognized to be specify Posttraumatic Stress Disorder and Agoraphobia. Patient 203 has continuous loss of communication with reality, a sign of __Psychosis, though is deemed as questionable._

_**Note:**__ Patient 203 is known to sleep walk. A restraint is unnecessary, though it is advised that evening staff lock 203 in her room from 10:30 PM - 7:00 AM. Note has been sent to Dr. A. Bachmeier to address the issue and arrange a session date for diagnoses relating to insomnia. Hypnotic advised to be given, though dose may vary depending on patient's independency if used for an extended period of time. _

Turning to the back of the folder he read the updated statement.

**2006. 11. 03: **_Patient 203 has improved astoundingly from psychotherapy. Medication has significantly been reduced._ _Organized Transfer has been postponed until further notice from officials. _

Between wiping away a loose hair strand of hair and placing a small digital tape recorder onto the table De Santis looked up at his patient, "How are you feeling today?"

She hesitated to answer, "I'm fine. Tired."

"How is your sleeping pattern? Improved? Worsened?"

"Worse."

"Any change in eating habits? Are you taking your medication as directed?"

"Yes."

His mouthed curved into a genuine smile, satisfied with the answer. "Now the formalities are out of the way, we can begin." He pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. He pressed the red button on the tape recorder, and with a soft _click _the tape reel inside began to spin. He pushed it slightly further into the center of the table. "This is the thirty-first session of patient Cassandra Maria Versace who will be assessed by myself, Doctor De Santis." He raised his left hand and looked down at his wristwatch, "It is 9:15 AM exactly."

He overlapped his hands, bringing them to his chin. "After previously being assessed and your condition analyzed it has been decided that you will be transferred for your final stage of treatment before being released. We've informed your family and they are aware. You are planned to be relocated next week to Beacon Hospital."

"For how long?" Cassandra's voice was quiet, her shy disposition and lack of socializing made communication something more of a chore that had to be done.

"As long as it will take." His said with a nod of the head, "But you've improved. I will be meeting your new doctor this afternoon. His name is Marcelo Jimenez and he is the head of the hospital. He'll take care of you until you are released. But, he is known to be thorough when diagnosing those in his care."

* * *

><p>"Marcelo." De Santis called over to the doctor who was sitting by a wooden table, a book clasped within his hand and a content look upon his aging face. Despite not being needed in any cerebral or physical therapy, he still clothed himself in a white laboratory coat, shirt and tie, something that had grown into a habit whenever he came into the hospital.<p>

"Anthony." Jimenez received his friend with a warm smile that made the skin around his eyes crinkle. He stood up, placing the thick book named _'Man's Search for Meaning'_ onto the table to greet him with a firm handshake. "My friend, how are you?"

"Good. Considering the circumstance." De Santis lowered his voice. He took his hand back and looked around the lobby of Beacon Hospital. "Is it true? The hospital is running out of money, despite the constant cured and rehabilitated people who leave here? It's laughable."

"There's a limit to everything." Jimenez sighed. "But the material, equipment, medication… everything has a price, Anthony. We usually have frequent and generous funding from an affluent source that is great support to the hospital, but lately I've heard no word. We're indeed in a most, _desperate_, situation at the moment."

"Hm." De Santis nodded. He pulled out a chair across from the other doctor, sitting heavily down and taking out a folder from his briefcase. "On another matter. I have my patient to discuss. Cassandra Versace. She's been in my care for just over a year and I interpret that after a month or so in your care she'll be fully rehabilitated and able to be released back into society."

"Does she have family?" Jimenez took the folder De Santis handed over to him. He quickly read through the file of the patient, his face blank and mouth a hard line. _"…cause of anxiety attack triggered by certain phobias caused by posttraumatic stress disorder…" _He looked at another paper, _"…is mentally stable yet can isolate herself from interaction…" _There was an envelope, which he opened and pulled out a picture of the patient and a yellow post-it note reading: _C. Versace. 19. _

"A mother and younger sister." He paused, his face filling with concentration and thought. He tapped his finger on the wooden surface in a slow rhythm. "Though, I doubt she'll want to see them. Before, she was living by herself. A hermit. She didn't go outside or see anyone."

"Right." He lowered his brow. "And her mental state?"

"Though vacant, she _is _mentally well, to an extent. That is why I decided to have her transferred to your hospital."

"Despite what you've heard." Jimenez looked up from the document, seeing that the other doctor was smugly smiling to himself, or more, at him.

"Heh, no insult, Marcelo, _but,_" He laughed,_ "_It's no concern of mine."

* * *

><p><em>The previous day…<em>

"_The hospital has not received the family's usual donation this year." __Jimenez__ finally spoke up, after a false greeting and petty small-talk, he decided he needed to address the situation sooner rather than later. _

_He turned himself toward the tuneful and soothing sound of the piano, played by a slim, though tall figure that was entranced by the sound. He wore a white striped shirt that was unbuttoned at the top and tucked into his black formal trousers. His face was bandaged tightly with white cloth, leaving only necessary gaps for the man's nose, mouth and pale, almost white eyes that were shaded with silver lashes that curled outward. The skin that showed on his right cheek wasn't as damaged to the extent of the rest of his face, the flesh was chalk like and reddened in some areas, but he was thankful his identity hadn't been fully taken away from him. His hand that played another chord, though big and skillful, was tinted black due to the same serious burning that had almost took his life when he was a child._

_Though the skin regenerative surgery and treatment was taking time to restore his body back to normal, he still continued his life like normal, though he was constantly stricken with pain._

"_And why would they? Has the hospital been doing anything worthy of donation?" The man asked, disdain in his deep, collected voice. He continued to play, each chord on his left hand perfectly matching the note he played with his right. How he effortlessly played was intriguing, not even having to look at the black and white board, his long, bandaged hands caressing the ivory keys effortlessly and with ease. _

"_The Victoriano family has always been a generous contributor." __Jimenez__ spoke up, wanting to make a point that it was more of duty to donate to the hospital, as indeed, they relied on it. He paused, knowing how stubborn and unfair the much younger man could be, and retreated, "Where are your parents?"_

"_They have gone away." He replied simply and continued his melody. _

"_When do you expect them…?" The older doctor took a step closer to the young man. The beautiful playing came to an abrupt stop, and the player slammed his hands against the keys, making a loud and harsh noise that made Marcelo jump with surprise. _

_He lifted his head, still looking straight ahead of him, his voice coherent and deadly quieter, "Is there something you wish to discuss, doctor?"_

"_I came to inform you that the hospital will no longer be able to provide you with assistance…" The greying man turned away from the piano player, now needing to hold onto his nerve and hit him where it will indeed hurt, and hopefully benefit him in return. A threat, that would make the younger man come back to sense, they both relied on each other, even though both didn't want to admit. Both were proud, arrogant and stubborn. After a pause __Jimenez__ continued, "Materials. Your research will very quickly disintegrate."_

"_How dare you come into my home and threaten me." The man's voice was like poison, venomous in tone and effective when inducing fear. There was a pause where both men refused to speak. He sighed, "Fine. I don't take kindly to blackmail, Marcelo. Remember that. I expect something great in return for what I give to you."_

"_And you will receive it." The older man was pleased and relieved when the figure began to play the piano again, thankful that his threat hadn't miscarried and ended with him being escorted out. "It's a promise."_

_The pale man sighed out a laugh, "It better be."_

* * *

><p><em>Two days later…<em>

The mansion, imposing yet intimidating, stood between the vast woodland and a lake that stretched for over a mile. Thick ivy grew over the brick and wood, wrapping around everything that was in the way and making sure that half the roof was no longer visible. Pressing her cheek softly to the window Cassandra watched intently as the car was welcomed by two towering iron gateways that led to the front of the manor. As they slowly opened, Cassandra relaxed back into her seat, turning back to Doctor Jimenez who when she met him was kind and caring, and even now smiled at her with support and attention. She smiled back, politely and out of respect, though she was conflicted with the emotion of confusion and fearfulness, as he was assigning somebody else to assess her.

The front courtyard had a water fountain that had been overgrown with moss, grass and a dead, dry root of a nearby tree. After an hour journey into the country and to the forgotten monster of a building, the car stopped steadily and smoothing at the door, the rumbling of the engine dying and the driver getting out of the front seat to open the door.

"He's a _very _close friend of mine." Jimenez went to her side, helping her out the car, "You see, he chooses to work with his patient's individually, to get to know them on a mental and personnel level. So, he has them stay here. It's much more efficient."

The lobby was dimly lit by dying candles that had hot, dripping wax falling from beneath them. Supporting the arch shaped roof were two rows of Whitestone pillars that resembled the style of Romanesque architecture, the neatly carved stone showed off the beautiful craftsmanship and structure. Incense made the air feel thick and heavy, it was aromatic and pleasant to the nose. Lancet windows lined against the wall, articulating with the images that were stained into the cut glass, though no sunlight shone through them. Ahead of her were twin staircases that lead to the higher floor that was supported by splayed stone arches, the upper floor was dark and hardly visible, the only light source came from a single candle flame that was placed at the top of the right staircase. Underneath them were a marble statue resembling a woman covered in fine silk, the stone glittered in the flickering light, the feminine figure staring upward toward the ceiling, almost like she was praying but knew she would receive no blessing.

It was like walking into the past—reminding Cassandra of the old time novel _'Great Expectations'_—though this mansion was ominous and cold.

"Excuse me, Cassandra." Jimenez excused himself and left her alone in the lobby. Her eyes followed after him, not wanting to be left with the dozen portraits that stared down at her with a judging expression.

* * *

><p>A window looking down on the courtyard was open, allowing a gust of wind to blow the red curtain drape and make it flutter like a butterfly wing. The pale man continued to wrap the fresh and clean white cloth around his right hand, watching as the black car that had brought Marcelo and the next subject drive through the gateway and back onto the road. He allowed the cool air to brush past his face, feeling eased he closed his eyes and tilted his head back, resting it on the wall and letting his mind wander.<p>

After a long, slow inhale, he used his teeth to rip the remaining cloth, then tie it around his thumb and make a knot. He closed the window. "Hm." He brought his hand to his chin, "Such filth defiling my home."

After that, he made his way to the grand piano, skimming his hand across the varnished wood, lighting touching the white key at the very end, making a high pitched yet soft note that echoed around the hallow room. His mouth curled upward into a small smile, "No matter."


	3. Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO

* * *

><p>"<em>Keep biding my time,<em>

_How much longer?_

_Who've I been waiting for."_

* * *

><p><em>The next day…<em>

Despite the lack of comfort or welcoming Cassandra found herself content in her room that consisted of a bed, bookshelf and window that showed her the landscape of the country. She placed a white, round pill on her tongue, took a light sip of water from the bottle she been given and eventually swallowed the dissolving tablet that left a numb and stale taste in her mouth. With a perplexed expression forming on her face she thought about the arranged evaluation that was to take place the coming afternoon. It was only a matter of time before she would be released and the mere thought made her stomach tense. She had been told that going from a supported environment back to normal living could be a tough transition. It is a lot easier to deal with if people are prepared for it and have some type of support system in place. She was prepared, but the thought of relapsing back into her old ways frightened her the most.

Normality is what she craved.

She thought about—_No, no. Not again. _Her mouth tightened into a hardened line and she decided to fall onto the bed with hope that she would sink into the soft fabric and be taken from this world. Just a month or two and she would be out.

_Out. Out. Out._

* * *

><p>"<em>No…please…not again…" <em>A man reduced to his underwear reached out toward the sky, his hand closing in attempt to hold onto the delusional palm he was witnessing before him. A large, clear tube had been inserted into the back of his neck, connecting to his spinal cord and allowing a white fluid to be transferred into his body in a slow current. His skinny body had been placed inside a bathtub like station that cradled the man on his back and forcefully held his head in a straightforward position. The tube was attached to the hunk of machinery that was positioned in the center of the room; at the very top was a globe that captured electricity and spun frequently to match the speed of voltage that was passing through. _"Please, please…help me…someone…."_

Beside the weeping patient, inside an additional station was another man hooked up to the machine, motionless and content.

A weary, impatient expression cast down on Ruben's face, a clear detachment from the withering patient whilst he continued to plead for his worthless, hollow life.

His last experiments had been disappointing, he would even to go as far to say that they had failed, each patient becoming repetitive when hooked up to STEM. Their endless screaming and incoherent mumbling had grown tiresome; watching them struggle against the restraint in a hopeless attempt to escape. It became a routine to wait for the predictable and unremarkable result when they were released from the machine. The STEM technology and theory could revolutionize the psychology and neuroscience field, fanning the blaze of his enthusiasm of discovering the mystery and the true potential of the machine and what it could be capable of.

Yet, further experimentation had gotten him nowhere, despite the success his previous revelation had been on how to break down the human mind, it had grown stale and begged to be revised, to be led onto something more magnificent. His gaze landed on the slumbering man beside the frantic subject that waned on his right, and he flicked a switch that made an electric pulse travel from one man to the other. His intention was to connect the pain experienced by the first subject to link with the second, thus them undergoing a similar sensation mentally and physically.

"_AHHH-!" _The man screamed, twisting and fighting against the restraint in a hopeless attempt to escape. With a click of another switch the first patient went limp and the room fell silent. There was an expectant moment when Ruben held his breath, waiting patiently for a pained reaction to come from the second subject. The low hum of the machine continued on, yet no life came from either of the two immobile men.

"Hm. Result inadequate." Ruben said flatly, "Section A2. Pain has an affective and emotional dimension; the amygdala of the temporal lobe should have triggered a physiological response."

A prolonged beep came from a heart monitor that was position above subject one.

"Act to simulate the cerebral cortex on the second subject," The scientist lightly clenched his teeth together, "Has failed."

* * *

><p>Every morning came with a different headline, each one much more brutal and scandalous than the last, and Jimenez had started to see a pattern which roused his concern. From the article he had received this morning it stated that several bodies had been found, some beyond recognition, but all of them had particular scar tissue that suggested they were experimented on. He knew that the method Ruben had been working on – a system he had begun to call STEM - was still being beta-tested, and the young man himself had been experimenting on the human psyche and mind. After each trial of pushing the human body to the absolute limit physically and psychologically, he would dispose of them, leaving them like an empty shell that reminisced of their previous self.<p>

The doctor stepped out of the elevator, listening to the clanking of metal as the crane hoisted it back to the floor above. The basement of the manor was the ugly reflection of the true intention of the building above, decaying and unpleasant, the long hallway leading down to the bowel of the underground was ignited with a solitary light bulb. A rodent ran across the stone floor, painfully squealing before returning back to the hole that gaped in the wall. As his feet would splash against the pooled water, he brought his hand to his mouth, trying not to cough on the strong smell of blood and rotten flesh. He finally came to an opening, a mediocre work place, where he found Ruben leaning against the wooden table, his head creased, deep in thought.

Without a word the doctor placed the newspaper on the nearby wooden table that held a variety of mechanical instruments, one resembling a large, circular blade that had become rusted over. He awaited a reaction from the impassive man, but when none came, he sank his head into his hand and instantly knew that Ruben had involvement in the case. From his expression alone, the younger man didn't seem surprised or concerned, but completely unpitying when he glanced over at the grey photograph of two policemen retrieving a body from a ditch. "How many have you killed, Ruben?"

"Numbers are irrelevant." He waved his hand dismissively. His voice boomed around the bare room. "They received as they themselves gave. And they served a higher purpose; they furthered my research."

"This was not mere research…" The elder man's mouth twisted like metal. "The things the papers say were done to those people… Those traps…"

"These vermin? These microbes?" The younger man determinedly advanced toward the doctor, his gaze burning into Jimenez as he stepped back to accommodate the man more room. Ruben brought his hand to his chest, pressing his collarbone, "They're _mine_ to do with as I please. But you are correct; this was not _'mere research'_. I am close to perfection."

"This is abhorrent." Jimenez heard his own voice tremble.

He slowly turned around, his expression full of malice and voice low with authority, "This is my will." He stated, intending to end the discussion.

"This is a felonious, corrupt thing you have done, Ruben." Jimenez stated, receiving a sideward glare that was almost buried underneath the weighty bandaging that concealed Ruben's face. He heard a sneer.

"What concern is it of yours?" Ruben turned to confront the elder, noticing how the doctor would flinch. "You knew exactly what would happened to those scum. You knew _exactly_. What you provide for me from that hospital is no longer adequate nor worthy. I require, something more, _suitable._"

"Will she be exposed to this inhumane treatment?"

"Naturally." His voice was low, barely a whisper, "Though the female sex who have been linked to the machine have failed to even fulfil a simple connection."

* * *

><p>"Maximum frequency stimulation of cortical regions has proven lass than effective. The subjects scream and scream but they die much too quickly." He mused, "Tailored settings achieve better results. The only question that remains is which region to focus on."<p>

The tape recorder wheel spun slowly round. Beside it was a documentation file for his next test subject, and he had yet to fully read the diagnosis of the newest patient Jimenez had given him in exchange for funding. Every exchange was discreet, each patient's file looked through with consideration, their background examined and proof of their residence at the hospital destroyed. It was like wiping a stain from the clean foundation of life. The older doctor had a way of picking patient's that had no connection to the outside world or with family, making their disappearance easier to cover up, with the excuse that they discharged themselves and left with no forward address if the event that someone did look for them.

He stared at the accompanying picture with a stark expression, unreadable, his mouth contorting whilst his stare narrowed at the sight of the young woman looking back up at him. "To connect one mind with another and share on an electro-chemical wave. To feel and experience their emotion, their memory, their perception and psyche."

He dropped the picture back onto the table. "A previous experiment had almost achieved this. The minor subconscious displayed an attack on the root personality, creating a remarkable and unforeseen outcome: leaving the core personality—ah—"

His chest tightened with a sudden burst of pain that erupted throughout his very being, causing him to latch onto the nearby table with his hand and rest his weight upon it. His left eyelid twitched irritably, a warning sign of what was to come. A swift convulsion went down his leg, making fall onto damp stone floor of the basement. His body began to start jerking uncontrollably, his leg muscle tense and ridged, his breathing cut short. Wide, manic eyes looked out into the darkness of the cellar, his mouth wide open whilst a faint mumble of a disjointed sentence escaped. After a minute, the seizer stopped abruptly and his body returned back to regularity.

A sharp, unexpected pain shot through his spine, landing in the center of his forehead and making his vision blurred and unstable. He took a deep, shaking breath, his knee pressing hard against the stone floor as he heaved himself up from the filthily, rat infested ground. A small line of crimson fell from his nose, running down his lip at a fast pace. "Instead of them becoming one whole conscious, they created something with an internal hate for the other half. Forced to live off another, eternally loathing, unable to be torn apart and be free of such torment. One personality would rather to live, as the other would rather die. All inside a weak vessel of a body." He placed a quivering palm on top of the recording device, concluding the entry.

He wiped the thick fluid away from his top lip, a droplet of it landing on the nearly photo of a pale woman looking back at him with an obedient, guarded expression.

"Intriguing."

_Click._

* * *

><p>The library was on the second floor, a colossal chamber that was filled with literature, the retro décor reminisced Victorian construction and art, though that wasn't the main focus that had Cassandra captivated yet unsettled. She had entered the room from Doctor Jimenez's hand gesture whilst he held the door open for her, noting that his friend and Cassandra's new assigned doctor was waiting inside. She had expected someone like Jimenez, an elderly, experienced medic who would treat her with the same respect he did. She hadn't expected <em>this <em>at all.

A tall, though slim figure that awaited her presence with an unnerving calmness and look, sitting on a carved wooden chair with one palm in another, completely covered with…_bandages? _It was unexpected, to say the least. She stared at him; suddenly realizing her mouth had become extremely dry. A man, wrapped in heavy bandaging that covered the majority of his face, an attempt to cover the permanent damage that had been inflicted onto his pale skin. His pallid, unnerving gaze observed her, the longer he looked the more she could see the caged emotion that was within the stare, resentment and disinclination, like she was an inconvenient burden. They _burned. _They had an animalistic, predatory shine in them, an aspect that awoke something inside Cassandra.

For a long second, they both stared at each other. His gaze shifted from Cassandra's temporarily, starting at her feet, and then clawing their way up past her chest and to her face again. "Interesting…"

"I'm sorry?" Her voice sounded hoarse and unflattering.

"Hello. Please, sit down." His greeting was curt, detached politeness, giving her an expression she couldn't decipher due to the coverage of his slim face. Again, she felt those light, ashen eyes watch her like a walking spectacle, drowning Cassandra with judgment and hidden intent. His voice deep and well spoken, a somewhat refined manner about him, the way he composed himself and sat back into the chair with a relaxed posture. Looking down at the notepad he was quickly writing on, Cassandra noticed that the tip of his right hand had not been covered in the same white dressing, revealing the charred black and peeling flesh.

He saw her.

He looked over the meek woman again, taking in her appearance, clothed in an oversized white gown that covered the most of her body. Her face, framed with such dark hair, was a host to a surge of freckles that bloomed on the bridge of her nose and across each cheekbone. She had somewhat of a submissive look, her mouth plump, constantly being chewed, a force of habit the woman had developed throughout the year. Thick, full but tamed eyebrows gave her a constant serious expression. She had raw beauty, not in the sense that she was stunning, but had stark and powerful features, though seemed worn due to the lack of sleep and medication she had been prescribed. There was something else Ruben had noticed, something that hid behind the overgrown hair, the look of pure stability and focus.

"Shall we begin?" He continued. The sudden quickened pace of the evaluation catching her by surprise. "I'll get straight to the point. I'd like to propose something to you." He studied the ceiling for a second or two. "From reading your file, I would say you would be a _fitting_ subject. There's a new form of treatment I've been working on. A type of deep brain simulation, which in hindsight, will send an electrical impulse to a specific part of the brain and can be used as a treatment for certain disorders. It can change brain activity in a controlled and safe manner."

"You don't mess around." She coughed to cover the tremble in her throat. She attempted to smile, but was struck down with a cold, hard look of displeasure.

"I just prefer informing each patient my true intention and sharing my ideology." He stated, "You've come here on the word that I'm to become your new psychotherapist, yes? Well, sadly, you've been misinformed."

"Misinformed?" She repeated.

His jaw tightened. "Your brain has a nucleus amygdalae, that is located in the temporal lobe of the brain. The temporal lobe has the role of processing memory and emotional reaction. To put it simply, this treatment, it can _change _that psychological anxiety you struggle with on a daily basis."

"You mean, it can completely, get _rid _of it?"

"Indeed."

"I'm sorry, but, that's—"

"An ongoing process. It's not seamless." He interrupted her. "But it's safe. I just need a volunteer."

It didn't catch on at first. Then, her brow lowered and her mouth turned upward. She saw his seriousness, and her smile disappeared. "_Me?"_

"Cure one patient, cure the _world,_" He replied, "It's something I want you to consider. There is no need to rush into something you're not…_understanding _with."

She blinked. It wasn't only his ability to make her feel insecure about her own existence or his skill to scare her with the tone of his eloquent voice that oozed with pride and superiority, but his hard, level gaze left her wanting to disappear into the air like smoke. She had never known someone have that effect on her, the unknown fear and uncertainty of what he was thinking made her mind reel and become hazy. His every gesture and pacing of the way he spoke to her had such an effect, like he was _testing _the water, to see how deep it was. Yet, he barely even scratched the surface.

"Do you know the meaning behind your name?" He looked at her through his binding, "Cassandra," He put emphasis on the last syllable, "She was the daughter of King Priam and Queen Hecuba. According to Greek mythology, Cassandra was beautiful and had been blessed with the gift of prophecy by the god Apollo who intended to seduce her, yet she refused him, and he gave her the curse of never being believed. She was considered insane by her family and was incarcerated till the day she died."

She didn't know how to react; either he was trying to insult and belittle her by relating her name origin to a myth of a crazy woman or was genuinely shining the light of knowledge onto her. "Oh."

"Greek mythology has always stirred my interest." He stated flatly, his voice full of scorn and disappointment by her stale reaction. He straightened his shirt, making his collar looser, "Now, Cassandra, tell me, what do you fear?"

* * *

><p>The room on the second floor, North of the mansion, was a medium sized chamber, protected by sister marble statues that stood across from each other. One held out her palm, her head tilted backward and looking up into heaven, a blissful expression. The other, head down in disgrace, a hand covering her woefulness, the happiness that radiated from her sister didn't reach the darkened side of the room.<p>

At the back hung a painted portrait of the previous family of the estate. The proud father was positioned the highest of all the other family members, whilst the mother was positioned the lowest, rested in a chair, her hand overlapping her palm that held onto a yellow, but wilting flower. On the right, slender and clad in rose red, was the daughter who stood smiling serenely at the painter, her hair falling down each shoulder like a black mist.

Once a beautiful piece of art, now nothing but a befouled canvas that erased the past. The paint used for the parent's face's had been soaked in heavy water, causing the dye to soften and drip downward, giving them both a demonic appearance. Their mouth stretched, their gaze blackened, their face pulled downward into their bodies and swirling with the darkened color of their attire. The daughter, canvas ripped and torn, purposely done in such a way that it seemed to insinuate beheading as the fabric was missing from her throat.

The only remaining member, the youngest son, who stood somberly on the left, wasn't tainted by the hatred that had overthrown the picture.

From behind the portrait came a softened cry, a light thud and the scraping sound of a nail upon wood. Then, _silence._

* * *

><p><em>AN: Thank you for the encouraging reviews and feedback. It really is appreciated. Sorry for the late update and leaving on a cliffhanger. Thank you for reading._


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